


Let Me Have You

by anysin



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Extremely Dubious Consent, Father/Son Incest, M/M, Sexual Fantasy, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:41:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23374099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anysin/pseuds/anysin
Summary: Martin thinks of his son in his prison cell.
Relationships: Malcolm Bright/Martin Whitly
Comments: 8
Kudos: 95
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	Let Me Have You

At last, Martin has Malcolm right where he wants him.

(Martin doesn't. Martin is alone in his prison cell, with only his hand and his mind for company. Fortunately, his hand is capable and his mind is vast; he will spend time with his son tonight.

He could imagine Malcolm anywhere: in his own cell, in an nondescript hotel room, in Malcolm’s childhood bedroom for the sheer dirtiness of it, but now he imagines Malcolm at his idea of what could be Malcolm’s current bedroom. Something spacious and open, to keep his boy from feeling trapped, with sparse decoration and little personal touches, to go along with his boy’s lonely, isolated heart. There, he finds Malcolm waiting for him, and even though it’s just a fantasy, his own heart begins to race.)

Malcolm is in his bed, defenseless and vulnerable. He is asleep, but not at ease; he isn't tossing and turning for now, but he's frowning, gritting his teeth as he tilts his head over to the side. His t-shirt is riding up his torso, exposing a tantalizing sliver of his flat, taut stomach. He is utterly delicious and he is all Martin’s.

Smiling to himself, Martin approaches the bed. He knows how to move silently, reach his victim without them ever seeing him coming; Malcolm doesn't stir as Martin makes his way over to him, climbing up on the bed. Looming over his son, who lies so slender and pale beneath him, Martin has to savor the moment, enjoy the warmth and nearness of Malcolm; he is beautiful like this, unable to deny his father, helpless against his affection. Martin reaches out and runs his knuckles down Martin's cheek, his smile widening as Malcolm shivers.

His boy is so good tonight, letting him get so close, waiting for him all ready. Martin can't resist; he leans down and rests his lips against Malcolm's forehead, feeling as the unhappy creases on the soft skin grow even deeper. He drags his nose down to Malcolm's nose, rubbing them together before moving his mouth down to Malcolm's lips, pecking them lightly first before pressing down for a deeper kiss, swiping his tongue into Malcolm's tense mouth. He rests his body down on top of Malcolm, exploring his mouth as he rolls his hips against Malcolm's, letting his sleeping son feel his hard cock.

Deep in his throat, Malcolm whimpers, but doesn’t stir.

(Of course, Malcolm would have stirred by now; he is his father's son. He might be looking up at Martin with large, terrified eyes, he might be screaming- some nights, that's what Martin wants. But tonight, Martin wants to explore.)

Martin grabs the hem of Malcolm's shirt and starts to roll it up, rubbing down against Malcolm as he exposes his boy's stomach and chest. He explores Malcolm's nipples, stroking the delicate skin of his areolas before rolling the buds underneath his thumbs, massaging them until they harden. He presses his face into Malcolm's neck, taking a deep breath; there is a touch of salt in Malcolm's scent, perhaps from sweat, perhaps from fear. Either way, Martin can't get enough of it, inhaling it again as he rubs his hands along Malcolm's sides, feeling up his sharp ribs, his narrow waist. Martin pulls away, breathing heavily as he slides his hands down to Malcolm's hips, to the waistband of his boxers.

Licking his lips, Martin pushes his son's boxers down, sliding them past his hips to his thighs, down further to his knees. He is delighted to see that Malcolm is hard, cock firm and rising up as soon as it's released from the fabric surrounding it, and his mouth waters at the idea of taking his son's cock into his mouth. He takes care of the boxers first, though, lifting Malcolm's right leg out of them and leaving them dangling around his left ankle. He sets Malcolm's legs wide apart, stroking his slim thighs all the way from the knees to the juncture of his hips, leaning down to kiss Malcolm on his stomach. He moves down between Malcolm's legs, sucking his cock into his mouth.

(It’s a crime that he has never seen his son nude in adulthood. Sure, he can imagine it all, how Malcolm must look like beneath his sharp suits, but the fact this intimate knowledge is forbidden to him in real life is absolutely infuriating to him. He has made Malcolm: he has the right to his body, the right to know it.)

Martin slides his mouth up and down along Malcolm’s cock, feeling it grow even thicker and warmer between his lips, throbbing hotly. Martin can’t help it; he moans against his son’s cock, smiling around it as it twitches in response to his voice, dripping pre-come onto his tongue. Martin licks it all up, enjoying his son’s slightly bitter taste before lifting his mouth from Malcolm’s cock, giving the head a few more laps before straightening up, hastily unfastening his own pants. Martin hasn’t needed to tend to himself at all; just being close to Malcolm has been enough to get him hard, and he’s aching to bury himself deep inside his boy.

Grabbing Malcolm from the backs of his knees, he pushes Malcolm’s legs up to his chest, exposing the naked curve of his ass. He rubs himself against it, lifting Malcolm’s legs up to his shoulders before taking his cock into his hand, lining it up with Malcolm’s hole, tight and untouched.

(He doesn’t know if Malcolm has ever slept with a man, or with anyone else for that matter. It doesn’t matter now; here, he can imagine Malcolm as he wants him, unsullied by strangers.)

He has to be gentle with his son; releasing himself for a moment, he spits into his hand and slicks his cock, giving it a few strokes as he looks down at his son’s weary, haunted face. He softens, leaning down to kiss at those frown lines, trying to soothe them away. As he does so, he pushes the head of his cock against Malcolm’s hole, starting to slide it in.

Martin takes his time, keeping on kissing Malcolm’s face as he slowly, patiently pushes inside him, a moan vibrating in his throat over how tight Malcolm is, how warm, how utterly *his*. Once he has sunk in all the way to the root, he stills, letting his cock throb inside his son as he tastes his mouth, sucking on his lower lip. Malcolm groans beneath him, his ass tightening around Martin’s cock, but he doesn’t stir.

(Oh, but what if he did? What if he did, staring up at Martin in silent horror as he realizes he’s full of his father’s cock, unable or unwilling to comprehend what he’s seeing? Maybe he would fight back then, struggle; maybe he would lie back, shiver ever so slightly as he submits to his fate, takes what his father wants to offer to him. Martin wants it all, every option, every reaction he can wring out of his reserved boy.)

He rocks his hips against Malcolm’s, still kissing him as he starts to move inside him, cock sliding back and forth within his snug ass. He runs his hands along Malcolm’s body, feeling up his soft, smooth skin, his wiry muscles, mapping out every line and curve of his figure. He pulls away from Malcolm’s mouth and buries his face into his neck, breathing him in deeply as he thrusts deep inside him, making the bed shake beneath them. Malcolm moans softly in his throat, half in pleasure, half in pain.

Martin grunts, moving even harder and faster, reaching between their bodies so he can grasp Malcolm’s still hard cock. He strokes it to the rhythm of his thrusts, watching as Malcolm’s mouth gapes wider with every wanton moan, feeling his own balls draw up. He presses his nose tight against Malcolm’s neck as he jerks on Malcolm’s cock, pulling his orgasm out of him as he slams into Malcolm for one final time, coming right inside him. He breathes Malcolm in like he’s air itself, like he will die without him.

(He will.)

He pulls up again, looking down at Malcolm’s face as his cock still twitches inside him, still firm. Malcolm frowns, eyelids fluttering.

Malcolm opens his eyes, and Martin gets to see them grow deliciously wide when Malcolm realizes who is with him, who still has his cock buried deep inside him and whose spunk is slowly leaking out of him, staining the bed.

“You are not,” Malcolm stutters, blinking. His hands rise up, finding Martin’s arms. “You can’t be real.”

(This is the path to a realistic ending, the one where Malcolm fears and hates him. Sometimes, it’s what he wants, because having Malcolm’s fear and hate is better than his distance and absence, better than nothing at all.)

Martin smiles.

“The thing is, neither are you,” he says, leaning down towards Malcolm. He can feel Malcolm’s chest heaving beneath his own as he presses down on him, his heartbeat fluttering wildly. “But let’s hope this can all be real one day, shall we?”

(But this time, he is going for the other option, the one where he can trust that his son loves him.) 

He kisses his boy, who sighs against his lips. He watches Malcolm close his eyes, feels him yield beneath him, feels him kiss him back.


End file.
